The Perfect Illusion

I thought about it while I had water pouring down on me in a dark-lit, light brown-tiled room. Only thing, it's not a room where you see beds and posters and all. It's a room within a room, with a mirror and a bowl where you look down into every morning you get out of bed, which is not in that room.

It was this urgency in me, to remember what I just thought of in that dark place. I kept murmuring it to myself, like a mantra, to make sure I didn't forget it. Such was this urgency in me I had to speed up what I was doing. It wasn't much of an urgency, when I look back at it now. It was more like desperation to remember it because, so many times I've been in this situation where something just pops into my head like popcorn out of it's kernel, and I struggle to remember it. I struggle to devise a method to remember. I've thought of keeping a pen and notepad in that room, but paper and water don't really go too well together, especially when I'm all wet, literally, with water dripping from all around me. The last thing I'd want to write on would be paper.

Bloody corny, it still doesn't say what I thought about in that dark room.


About what I thought of in that dark room, it's quite, dark really.

About the mental trauma, that's the mental drama, that is the mental notes, I've been keeping in my mental coat. It might not make sense. It never would. Like how you were once seeing it, and then it disappears right before your eyes.
I may be attracted to someone. I may not know if it's true. You might get this theme, cause it is about you.


Bloody corny, it says something though. Something corny.